


Bride Price

by eiseedoesit



Category: Transformers
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Gender Role Reversal, M/M, robots in clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiseedoesit/pseuds/eiseedoesit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severe AU where femmes are the dominant gender and control society. Optimus is married off to a strange general who may not be as horrible as the tales portray her to be. Elita/Optimus. Fluff and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeegoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeegoo/gifts).



The carriage stopped abruptly, the motion jolting him from his thoughts. The ornate veil placed over him swayed, softly sliding against his freshly-painted armor. He rose a servo to shift it back in place but his attendant was faster, quickly harnessing the headpiece while he tried to avert his optics from the wavering banners before them.

They were dark scarlet, gold, and silver. Colors designating a newcomer by marriage. Colors greeting him to his new life.

The door of the carriage opened, the steps lowered in loud clicks as the footmech extended his servo for Optimus to take. He was grateful for the veil then. It covered the sudden flush of heat that spread through his face as he was guided out of the vehicle. The attendant gave him a courteous bow,a gesture of respect he was unused to receiving. Around him two smaller mechs quietly and carefully pulled the rest of his trailing silks from the carriage.

The rich silks of his bonding attire spread all around him as he stood upon the unfamiliar, wet ground. It had rained here recently, a good omen according to the old mechs who taught him in his sire’s household. It did nothing to comfort Optimus, and the thought of his old teachers only made the pang of homesickness even more pronounced.

The attendants tidied him as much as they could, adjusting his attire and veil until the patterns were all facing appropriately out and the creases were smoothed. One of them took his servos and rubbed sweet scented oil on them. Optimus thought it smelled like the oil poured over his helm in the temple ceremony a few hours ago.

The memory made him shudder. His groom was there for all of ten minutes, just enough to say the vows, pour the oil, and replace the household crest on his chassis. It was a hurried ceremony, on the verge of being disrespectful even, based on the priests’ agitated rumbles. But his intended--his mate, was a general.

And generals had wars to win.

Mates must learn to wait. Duty and tradition demanded nothing less.

The attendants brushed the colorful silks with soft bristles dipped in a delicate, aromatic powder. The effect made the light reflect on his bridal attire, and in dying rays of the sunset, Optimus softly glowed.

“Swift and safe journeys ahead my Lord,” The footmech said rather formally. Even through his rehearsed words, Optimus imagined he saw a twinge of sadness there, a sort of worry and ache that was absent from his creators’ faces when they sent him away.

He knew this footmech well, he knew all of his servants well actually. He shared distant hours of his growing years with them, watching them carry out his sire’s orders, suffering beside them in different ways.

It was then that the reality of being married to a general truly gripped him. It was there, in the old footmech’s sad smile, that he realized he would never see his servants again. The knowledge hurt him deeply, even more so than saying farewell to his creators.

Optimus squeezed his servos together to keep them from twisting and ruining the silks his servants had worked so hard to perfect.

He wanted to tell the footmech to stay. No. Not even that. He wanted to command all of them to take him far from this strange place, to the nearest port out of the province and save him from this war-hungry general his creators had sold him off to.

“My Lord Optimus?”

He blinked, taking a gem off one of his sleeves. He placed the jewel into the footmech’s servo.

“Share whatever you can get from his gem with the others,” Optimus said, “And I thank you for your service.”

The footmech’s mouth was open, his servos wrapping around the gem protectively. He stared up at his young Lord for the last time, optics wide and full of tears.

“We wish you a kind fate my lord,” The footmech bowed, his voice gentle and humbled, “And a truly happy life.”

“I wish the same for you,” Optimus said, laughing softly, “Please...ensure my carrier’s safety.”

“Yes Lord Optimus,” The footmech said, “We shall try to,”

Try.

The memory of his sire, towering over his beaten carrier while the servants carried him away. He was a child back then. That was enough for him to fear, to dread the power his sire held. It was enough for him to pity his carrier, no matter how unfeeling he was towards him.

Try…

That was more than enough for Optimus.

“Thank you,” Optimus whispered, nodding to his servants for the last time.  
They left him swiftly, for the sun was dying and tradition instructed he enter his new household before the nightfall, alone and ready to perform his tasks as a dutiful mate to his new Lord.

Although they towered much higher than any household Optimus had seen, the gates were open and inviting. The rest of the walls surrounding the general’s palace were strong, dark red and thick. The sight appeared to him like stacks of large arms piled on top each other, molded together to create a terrifying welcome. He stepped through the opening, gathering his silks carefully as he followed the large stone paths leading him in.

Beneath his breath, he whispered the expectations, the words of tradition he had to abide by. The words frightened him, becoming painful strokes within his racing spark.

And it would soon be a spark that would no longer be his.

* * *

 

_ The role of being the submissive mate begins immediately. _

That was the first rule his tutors ingrained in his mind during training.

_When your pedal steps through her gates and into her household you belong there. You rule and oversee the household, and you must serve your mate at once, whenever she may arrive and in whatever manner she requires._

Optimus nodded obediently at those words. But now, as he waited in his new Lord’s immense berthroom, he wondered what it all really meant.

The palace was empty, or at least it appeared so. He was prepared for that. It was part of the ongoing ceremony for his first hours to be alone, his new servants hiding away from him until the wedding night was over. They would greet him in the morning, and the seemingly dead palace would burst in life and celebration at the union of their Lord and her new, freshly broken mate.

_Be mindful of her needs. But do not expect her to extend the same to you. You must remember your servitude._

The red and blue mech studied the room, hoping he was correct in assuming it belonged to the great general. A collection of swords lined the wall, their blades glinting sharply in the candlelight. Optimus had found several of them in his exploration of the palace, lighting the rooms and windows as he waited for his mate to arrive. Perhaps this is what they meant, to serve his Lord in whatever manner she required? It was the least he could do, to light the darkness of her home when the sun was at rest.

Optimus laughed when he realized the action mirrored the priest’s words to him in the ceremony.

“May you bring light to her household, spreading beyond the sight of your lives.”

Sparklings. That’s what it was in the symbolic sense. Little sparks he would bring into her home, outliving them both and sealing her legacy.

Unless of course, he proved to be like his carrier. Unable to provide the desired femme.

The laughter fled from Optimus’ lips. The general’s collection of swords winked wickedly in the light. He shook away the thoughts, smoothing his bridal attire, adjusting his veil. The scent of the ceremonial oils was faint now, and the night was heavy with darkness. Was his mate ever to come?

He stirred the small pot of energon tea, hoping the strength would be to his mate’s liking when she finally arrived. He recalled his carrier serving his sire tea before. His sire had taken a sip and threw the pot at his carrier’s face. The medics weren’t allowed to touch him until the tea was perfect.

Optimus found that the more he tried to forget his sire, the more memories surfaced of her. His sire was an old femme from a great and noble family, ancient, rumored to have started their line from the first Primes. Whatever kindness or nobility her supposed ancestors possessed, she did not. But the pride was there, blinding and cruel. Her regard for Optimus was minimal until it was clear her mate could no longer bear her any more children. She devoted to find the best mate of him then, not for his happiness, but for what it would do for her own purposes.

Optimus was unsure of what he hated more. The carrier who ignored him, or the sire who obsessed over every potential match. He prayed that the sire of his future children would be neither. But then again he prayed for much simpler things before. And Primus seemed to have other matters in mind than to listen to a desperate child’s pleas.

“Forgive my sudden disappearance at the ceremony,”

Optimus jumped, turning towards the window to see his mate swinging into the berthroom. His optics grew wide at the sight of her. Her armor was thick, smooth along her curves, yet sharp at her broad shoulders, thick along her hips and chest. She pulled of her ceremonial mask, and for the first time he saw her face.

“The emperor assigned me to keep the rebels at bay from the Eastern borders.” She said, her voice low and soothing, “I pray you understand.”

Optimus was at a lost for words, still trying to make sense of this...beautiful stranger he married.

“Lord Elita...it is my duty and pleasure to understand,” He said, wincing as she pulled out her sword, hints of energon flecked on it, “I take no offense in you keeping your word to our Emperor.”

Elita raised an optic ridge. Optimus found it odd that someone with such a notable reputation could be so casual with him. Her optics were dark blue, nearly smoldering as she hung up her sword on the wall.

Optimus pulled himself together, racking his processors for the appropriate actions. He stood up, silks flowing around him and bowed at her feet. His servos reached out to barely touch her pedals when she pulled back. He immediately withdrew, shut his optics, bit his lip.

Images of his sire towering over his carrier flashed in quick succession.

But no strike came. Not even a spiteful word.

“On the berth,”

The confused mech huddled, shrinking into himself as his mate slide pieces of her extra armor off. She tossed her arm guards to the floor, both pieces clanging on the floor. Her shapely lip plates turned up as she began undoing the remainder of her ceremonial garb.

Optimus rose from his place on the floor, walking over to the berth. He sat down on the edge, fixing his bonding clothes as he went, rubbing his servos nervously to produce more of the temple’s scent.

“Forget what they taught you Optimus.”

He gasped when her servo grabbed his veil, pulling it swiftly from him. He felt it slide from him, the protection it offered gone. He turned his helm away.

“Lord Elita--”

Her fingers guided his helm to look at her once more. His optics opened at her request. She was beautiful, her face young but wise, her features strong, solid, but with a kind countenance he did not expect.

“There are many times for traditions to be upheld. We’ve already done enough. I wish for you to be at ease.” She motioned for him lay on his back.. He obeyed, careful to move with all the grace he could muster.

“As you wish my Lord.”

Elita lifted his chin. The touch was confident yet gentle, inviting. Her body was formidable, strength radiating out as she climbed up and over him, her shadow hovering above. His optics flared brighter. She traced his nervous, trembling lips. His field was restrained with fear. Her optics inspected his frame, her mouth curling in an appreciative smile. 

“I see I have much work to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Smut, femdom, mechpreg. Enjoy :D And forgive the bad smut, it’s turning into crack now.

 

Optimus’ arms were shaking. The more he tried to remain still, the less control he seemed to have.

“Don’t be afraid,” Elita said. She blinked curiously at him. He stared straight into her optics for far too long, suddenly intimidated by her gaze. “I know you will be. No matter what I say. But I ask you to try.”

She brushed her fingers through his bridal attire, his plating tight and shocked.

“Relax,”

The mech nodded, trying to adjust his frame on the berth. Should he simply lay flat on his back? Sit up? Lay to his side? Close or open his optics?

_On your wedding night you will follow her instructions. Do not move unless she tells you. Do not speak unless you must answer._

That was all he was given by his tutors to go by, in regards to the topic of intimacy. His sire was affront to him learning anything more than that interfacing was a duty, a requirement for a bonded couple, and the means of which to keep the family line strong and relevant. He gathered some information through books, and guessed at the expected course of events whenever he caught the servants gossiping about who fragged who. The rest he filled with dreadful imagination.

“Whatever they taught you Optimus I want you to forget it,” Elita said, sliding her body closer to his until she was laying by his side, “I don’t want anything or anyone else in your mind tonight but us.”

“Yes my Lord,”

“Elita,”

She leaned over, spread her body over his, her fingers pulling his helm closer as she kissed him.

“It will be a difficult habit to break. But simply call me by my name.”

Her optics narrowed at the mech’s lack of response. He was still as stone, his breathing suspended. She kissed him again, chastely, very tenderly. She withdrew her lips from his, their faces a breath away. She smiled when Optimus sucked his own lip plates in, the embarrassment in his flushed face severe.

“So am I to be your first in all ways?”

“I--I’m sorry. I did not expect that,” Optimus raised his optic ridges, biting his lip at the lost for words, “But it was pleasant my lor--Elita.”

“So you’re telling me,” The femme’s fingers lingered over the mech’s lips, drawing them out, “That you never kissed?”

Optimus shook his helm timidly.

“Kissed?”

“Oh Primus,” Elita kissed him on his cheek, his jaw, his neck, “You are a rare thing indeed.”

Optimus quickly moved away when her lips nipped at his neck, the sensation spreading through the surface of his sensitive plating. It wasn’t painful. Not at all. But it made him feel suddenly light, excited…

Was it even allowed to feel this way? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember. But from the way Elita’s mouth was exploring him, it was becoming easier to forget.

“It’s okay,” Elita said, “Didn’t know you were sensitive along the neck?”

Optimus shook his helm, trying to keep himself from turning away and simply allow the sensations to spread.

“You can speak as you wish Optimus,” Elita said, “You will quickly find that fear does not pleasure me.”

She touched the seams of his chassis, trailing down to his tight abdominal plating. Something about how her fingers lingered there, fanning over his flat plates caused his cooling fans to activate with a quick whirl.

“But that reaction certainly does,”

Before he could protest she kissed Optimus on the lips again, her motions more forceful, her glossa slipping in and swiping along her mate’s own.

The act shocked Optimus. Confused he pushed back, deepening the kiss, sliding their glossa together. He withdrew immediately, gasping and averting his optics, feeling both foolish and fearful.

“Why?” Elita’s lips danced lightly on the edge of his mouth, “Talk with me Optimus. I will command it if I must.”

“I--I overstepped, I am sorry.”

“There is nothing wrong in what we’re doing. Nothing shameful between mates,” Elita replied. She kissed the top of his helm. Optimus for some strange reason, felt comforted by the simple gesture.

“I have never seen any of this before. Nor have I heard,” Optimus confessed, “The most I’ve been told was to follow every demand you make. And to--to spread my legs during the bonding night and allow you to break my seals. There was no mention of...of whatever it is you’re doing to me.”

“And what am I doing to you, my mate?”

“I--,” Optimus leaned back as the femme rested her hands against his chassis, encouraging his descent, “I don’t know,”

Elita pulled gently at his bridal attire.  The perfumed powder his servants dusted on earlier lifted, the sweet scent filling the air between them. Optimus wasn’t sure if he was meant to allow her to remove the garments or if he should remove them himself. He decided to let her lead.

“You will soon,”

Optimus bare chassis was exposed as his mate undid the fastened ties on his robes. Though the delicate fabrics slid easily off of him, he felt awkward, naked. Since sparkling hood he was wrapped in garments and robes. Preservation of modesty, a mark of innocence. And furthermore in his case, also a mark of nobility. But all that was gone now.

Now he was simply exposed, his mate’s fingers on his thighs, lifting the last piece of the bridal regalia from him.

“I will teach you, Optimus,” Her servos were fast, careful, and clever, “And I’m glad that you will learn it solely from me.”

She kissed him before he could ask why. The pressure against his lip plates was harder this time, her glossa slipping in. He drew back, shocked and scared at the intrusion. She held his helm gently, kissing him softly to ease his fears. The sensation of his mate within him spread delicious warmth through his frame. And he reveled in her control, her tender guidance.

A brief moment of shame. Memories of his sire’s berating curses, calling him a fool for trusting so carelessly. The image hurt. But it also vanished. Such memories could not survive long. Not here. Not with her.

The warlord nipped at his bottom lip, motioning for him to respond. He kissed back. Tried to at least. He wasn’t sure if it counted or if he was simply pushing his mouth onto her face like a clueless oaf. He felt her smile, felt her soft laugh drift through the small space between them.

“Don’t rush it Optimus. Just enjoy.”

Elita kissed his cheeks, the edge of his mouth and jaw. Her hands were spread out, fingertips grasping the seams of his waist and hips, making Optimus strangely aware of the shapes composing his own frame. The curves and angles he never thought to be worthy of admiration. Elita moaned upon touching them now.

She explored him, every panel and plane, whether by her skilled fingers or tender kisses. He moved obediently, shifting as she wished him to, allowing her whatever access she implied. He was silent, still afraid of upsetting her with a misplaced touch. For all her show of kindness, Elita was foremost a stranger. Dangerous and powerful, clever in her ways. And strangers should never be trust--

He gasped. Her glossa lifted from his audials, the sudden cool air pricking him.

“Go on,” Elita encouraged, nipping his neckcables softly, “Do not restrain yourself. If you fear that speaking is not allowed, your fears are unfounded.”

Optimus stretched out, allowing her more space to work. His lips were open, yet no sound escaped, the fear still there.

“No, no, no my mate,” The femme withdrew, her hands touching the mech’s face and guiding him to look at her optics.

He flinched. His frame locked.

Elita’s optics narrowed, confused.

“Optimus?”

“Forgive me. I did not mean--”

“You don’t need to apologize. I only wish to know why you hold back. There is no punishment to fear.”

The mech blinked. His body refused to relax, the tension flared out from his field, brushing hot against her.

“Since I can recall, the only times my sire ever touched my carrier’s face was to show her displeasure,” Optimus said, “And when she had nothing else to unleash her anger on.”

Elita regarded him quietly. She sighed, not one of annoyance or impatience, but a rather apologetic one.

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” she said, rubbing her thumb against Optimus’ cheek, “That was not my intent. But I shall remember that from now on.”

“You are kind to me,” Optimus replied.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re my mate, and one day the carrier of my children. I know this wasn’t your choice Optimus. Nor was it even mine,” She touched the center of his chassis, “But I will try to give you no reason to fear me. Or to regret this.”

Optimus simply nodded, leaning further down as she gently pushed against his chest.

“I want to hear you. In every manner,” Elita said, “In politics, in our household, and in our berth. You will learn quickly that I cannot endure silence,”

Flat on his back, the mech groaned. His intake increasing as his fans whirled, his sensors following the trail of her fingers. His hips bucked when her fingers slid into the seams of his panel.

“Go ahead. Tell me how I make you feel. Knowing so gives me pleasure.”

Optimus, ever nervous, did not speak. But his restrained cry conveyed volumes.

And the weight of his panel giving way under Elita’s touch, slick fluids already gushing behind it, told her all she needed to know.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the bad grammar and smut :/ No beta this time. *dives under covers*


End file.
